


Inktober 2019

by SunflowerZombieMouse



Series: Inktober [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: (but what else is new right?), Angst, Bugs, Bustier salt, IT WASN'T MIDNIGHT WHEN I FINISHED THIS IT STILL COUNTED AS THE FIRST, Swearing And Expletives (though not many), Texting, Written in present tense, and not capitalizing letters that should be capitalized, and saying "i am not willing to put up with this bullshit any longer", arbitrary fairy tale rules about time and such, but not like normal teenagers because i don't understand text speech and i don't want to, chapter five tags ―, chapter four tags ―, chapter one tags ―, chapter six tags ―, chapter three tags ―, chapter two tags ―, did the princess's brothers not make sure that no one bothered her?, fairy tale format, he has had ENOUGH ok, he is intervening, his drawing a line in the sand, i chose the people i did to be the swans because . . . ., i get the feeling i'm going to posting a lot of these right before midnight, is not putting apostrophes where they should be, it just . . . takes a little nudging, it's been like weeks since i last saw chameleon and i'm still upset about it, like normal teenagers, lila pulls bullshit out of her ass, listen the show wants you to think otherwise but bustier is Not A Good Teacher, little itty bitty part, marinette Goes Off, marinette should sleep but she's too busy convincing herself that things will go horribly wrong, marinette worries and overthinks, ml salt fic, nevermind i am no longer confused, nino FINALLY puts his singular brain cell to good use, no beta we die like men ― unprepared and useless, not midnight yet still day one, oh wait because otherwise there wouldn't be a fairytale, or i could be remembering wrong, original characters for the sake of worldbuilding, plagg has had enough of all the obliviousness, so uh why then, something that confused me more recently;, something that i think always confused me about the 'original' story, swans will FUCK YOU UP BRUH, the most you will get out of me in that regard, tikki is a little shit and marinette is tired, was that her brothers didn't stay with her, well mostly because i just wanted adrien to be the princess sewing in silence, yes yes plagg is usually the Bastard but tikki has her moments too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-11-15 03:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20859293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerZombieMouse/pseuds/SunflowerZombieMouse
Summary: Many, many prompts written throughout October, mostly for the show Miraculous Ladybug (though there will probably be some original works thrown in there)





	1. Angst Day One ― "I'm sure they're very proud."

**Author's Note:**

> hi. hello. this is today's longest one. i didn't finish all the prompts i wanted to, but i definitely wrote and i'm fairly pleased with what i did get! so. here's day one of angst. next chapter will be day one of this-vs-that.
> 
> (if you want to know where i'm getting my prompts, feel free to message me on tumblr {my username is miloe} and i'll let you know!)

Caline Bustier has always thought of herself as an average teacher. Maybe she could be more assertive when she talks to Chloe, or she could be less lenient when the class gets rowdy, or she could perhaps take more serious steps against Akumas ― but then, couldn’t all of her peers? She’s one amongst many. She doesn’t stand out as extraordinary or subpar, she’s simply . . . there. No one’s been _perfectly happy_ in her class, but no one’s ever been absolutely miserable, either. Of course she wants her students to succeed; but there are others far more suited to helping them with their dreams than she. Caline is just a stepping stone; a high school teacher that people will remember only vaguely years down the road.  
  
Despite this, despite her belief that it doesn’t matter whether people think she’s a good teacher or not, despite all that; when she is accused of being a passive doormat and a bad teacher, she is ― offended. And more than a little surprised. She stares at the girl in front of her. “Marinette,” she says, sounding as stunned as she feels. “How could you say that?”

Marinette doesn’t back down. In fact, she crosses her arms and glares at Caline. Caline feels almost faint. “Because it’s true, Madame Bustier,” Marinette says. The classroom is empty but for the two of them; Marinette had come to her at the end of the day and asked if they could talk about something ― something important. “Something important” turned out to be that Marinette thought Lila wasn’t being entirely truthful. Well, she had said _“I know that Lila’s lying,”_ which was a rather serious accusation, and that had disappointed Caline most of all. Marinette was supposed to be her most well-behaved student; perhaps a little clumsy and forgetful at times, yes, but she wasn’t the type of person to stir things up for no reason.

Caline had sighed and said, “Marinette, I know you’re upset that Lila is taking up all your friends’ time, but that’s no reason to accuse her of being dishonest.”

Marinette had stared at her for a long time. Then she said, “I guess she was right; you are a bad teacher.”

Caline had nearly dropped the stack of test sheets onto her desk. Marinette didn't elaborate on who "she" was. Marinette has been standing in front of her calmly for the last five minutes, her mouth a thin line and her shoulders tense. She isn’t yelling; she isn’t shouting or stomping her feet or throwing a tantrum demanding things be different, she’s just . . . standing there and accusing Caline of being a bad teacher. Her voice is even and ― and _disappointed,_ even, as she continues. “I’ve been in your class for years now, and not once have you told _Chloe_ off for being horrible ― you always pulled _me_ aside like I was the one with the problem. You had no problem letting her walk all over me before Alya was here. And now―” Marinette cuts herself off and looks away. “Yes,” she says slowly, “I’m upset that my friends are so enthralled by Lila. But I’m more upset that they believe her tall tales.”

“Marinette,” Caline sighs, coming around the desk and resting a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “Don’t you remember our talk? About the Marinettes of the world?”

Marinette yanks her shoulder away and takes a step back, glaring a Caline. “I don’t _want_ to be a ‘Marinette of the world!’” She says, hugging herself. “I have _been_ a ‘Marinette of the world’ for years now, and it’s made me _miserable!_ Can’t you see that? All that being a ‘Marinette of the world’ gets me is people who think they can walk over me because I never tell them no, or if I do then they don’t think I mean it.” There are tears in her eyes. “Madame Bustier, I’m upset because my friends believed someone who was basically a stranger over me. They took her seriously when she said that a _balled up napkin_ could take out Max’s eyes ― and he was _standing,_ and he has glasses! Did you even ask for doctor’s notes about her disabilities and injuries? Because she has a lot, you know. Tinnitus, arthritis, a sprained wrist, none of which she had when she was here last ― is none of that suspicious to you? How could she have saved a kitten Jagged Stone had before Fang and gotten tinnitus from that while she was out of school if she was out of the country?” She stops to take a breath, and her voice cracks. She’s crying now. “I’m _sorry,”_ she says, “that my unhappiness is an obstacle to the peace of the classroom. I’m sorry that I’m not just _letting it go_ this time, that I’m insisting on _making a big deal out of it_ ― but you know what? This _is_ a big deal to me! When the one person who believes me and takes me seriously is someone I barely get to talk to and doesn’t know the whole situation, when nearly all of my friends turn on me because I’m upset about sitting by myself, when I’m _threatened,_ it’s a big deal!”

Caline takes a step back, her eyes wide. “I . . .”

Marinette shakes her head, wiping her eyes. “No, you know what? I don’t care. It doesn’t matter as long as I set a good example for her to follow, right? As long as I let her know that I won’t do anything about it, as long as I just lie down in front of her for her to step on, everything’s fine, right? It’s not like anyone’s getting seriously hurt.”

“I just wanted everyone to get along,” Caline eventually manages. “I didn’t know . . . I didn’t know it was so serious.”

Marinette lets out a bitter laugh. “‘Get along.’ Sure. Well.” She sniffles. “I’m sure you’re very proud of how _that_ turned out.” She pushes past Caline before she can say anything else.


	2. This VS That Day One ― Going to bed VS Staying up later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of the problems i have with this show is that while tikki is lovely, she isn't very . . . good at giving advice. advice that amounts to more than just "as long as you're happy (or pretending to be) with your situation, everything will be fine!" so all the tikkis i write are going to give Actually Good Advice for marinette.

“Marinette, you really should sleep,” Tikki says, poking at Marinette’s shoulder. “It’s late, and you have school tomorrow. This can wait ’til later, I promise. It won’t fall apart because you’re asleep for a few hours.”  
  
“I know,” Marinette sighs. “I just ― I feel like . . . I dunno.” She rubs at her forehead. “Tikki, do you think I’m a bad friend?” she asks eventually.  
  
The kwami blinks at her. “Bad friend ― what? No, of course not! Why―” She pauses. “You’re worried about what Lila said.”  
  
Marinette winces and looks away, but nods. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I know that my friends wouldn’t just abandon me like that, but the way they just sent me to the back without warning is . . . it feels pretty shitty, honestly. And the way they kept falling for her tall tales, even though they were so clearly fake?” She hunches her shoulders. The dim light from her desk lamp makes the bags under her eyes look far darker than they really are. “I dunno, Tikki. I’m . . . I’m scared. I’m scared that . . . they’ll believe her when she tries to make them believe I’m a bad person, too.”  
  
Tikki drops onto Marinette’s shoulder, and doesn’t say anything for a while. Marinette goes back to sketching while Tikki strokes her hair. “Well,” Tikki says eventually, “let’s look at it this way; before you were Ladybug, you really only knew Nino, right?”  
  
“Right,” Marinette says, wondering where Tikki’s going with this.  
  
“So all your friends really know of you,” Tikki continues, “is that you’re kind, and you go out of your way to help whenever you can. And yet here’s this relatively new girl with a disability, and you seem dead set against her ― and none of them know why. All they really see is that you don’t like her, even though she seems just as nice as you. Now,” Tikki announces, leaving Marinette’s shoulder, “that does _not_ excuse their attitude towards sending you to sit in the back by yourself. Perhaps they thought someone else had asked you about it already; regardless, they should have double checked with you to make sure you were okay with it. Perhaps they assumed you _would_ be okay with it, since you have been so accommodating before. They _still_ should have asked you beforehand to make sure.” Tikki glides over to Marinette’s face. Her eyes are gentle, and her voice is soothing. “If anyone has failed as a friend today, it was them and not you. You were upset that you weren’t consulted, you were upset that you were being left by yourself, and you were upset that they took her word over yours. There is _nothing wrong with feeling that way._ If you’re feeling up to it, I want to tell Alya about this tomorrow. Tell her _why_ you were upset about being moved to the back. Of course you shouldn’t mention Ladybug,” Tikki adds, “but everything else? You should talk to her about it.”  
  
Marinette inhales. “I . . . yeah. Okay. I’ll do my best.”  
  
Tikki beams and hugs Marinette’s forehead. “That’s all I ask of you, Marinette.”


	3. Creep and Horror Days One and Two ― Bugs and "Shhh . . ."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Akuma that controls bugs takes over the school. Paris' heroes are nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyy guess who's back on her bullshit for this chapter? (hint; it's a certain orange girl)
> 
> so, i don't really know how i feel about this one. i'm thinking perhaps horror isn't my strong suit. but! i made an attempt, and i finished it as well as i could, so i'm stepping away before i can convince myself i have to re-write the whole thing.

The room is dark. It wouldn’t be, but there are so many insects and arachnids ― normal sized and terrifyingly large ― crawling over the windows and flying around that barely any light filters in through the glass. He can hear buzzing just beyond the door and through the windows. A student on his left ― a classmate? Someone he’s never met? ― is covering her mouth, shaking violently as tears run down her cheeks. Someone else, on his right, is frantically muttering a prayer under their breath, their hands clasped together.  
  
When the first huge bug showed up, people were more startled and apprehensive than scared. They figured ― hey, another Akuma, one that’s bug-themed. Okay. We’ll just get out of the way and let Ladybug handle it. When it yanked someone aside ― someone too slow to get out of the line of fire ― and carefully wrapped them up, they were a little more wary, but still stupid enough to not be overly concerned about it.  
  
And then another one bit someone. Repeatedly. They were still alive when it took the first bite; their screaming was clear even through the wrappings, as well as the sounds of cracking bones and fabric ripping. When another bug emerged from the cocoon, blinking and shaking its head, /then/ people got scared.  
  
He isn’t really sure how long it’s been since they first rushed in the classroom and barricaded the door shut, but it feels like hours. He never got a good look at whoever was running with him, he was too panicked and adrenaline-blind to pay attention. As he looks around, he counts at least ten, maybe twelve kids in the room with him. Most of them are hiding under the desks and benches, though some are curled up on the floor without even trying to hide themselves.  
  
“We’re gonna die,” someone else whimpers. A boy with his hands over his head and bright blue hair peeking through his fingers. “We’re stuck in here and we never should have come to school today and it’s all that stupid girl’s fault and we’re gonna _die in here―”_ He breaks off into sobs.  
  
“No one is dying,” a girl hisses fiercely. “Look, it’ll be fine ― Ladybug will save the day like she always does, and then we’ll never have to worry about bugs eating our faces off ever again.” Someone lets out a distressed moan at “eating our faces off.” Nauseated, he feels inclined to agree. “Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words,” she amends, “but my point stands! Ladybug will save us.” He looks over at her, a girl with round glasses and a plaid shirt. She swallows, the pale shifting light on her face making her look inhuman. “She has to.”

* * *

  
Lila has never been very bothered by bugs.  
  
Sure, they’re disgusting close up, and you couldn’t pay her to stay still long enough for one to crawl around on her, but overall, they’re fairly tolerable. The world needs bees for flowers to survive. If there weren’t any spiders, there would be so many other bugs that the world would be overrun, and then humans wouldn’t be able to survive. She gets it; bugs are part of life, and as long as she leaves them alone, they’ll largely leave her alone too. There’s that rule of “bugs are way more scared of you than you are of them,” too. She’ll leave the bugs to people who actually like them, who devote their time to studying them and keeping them as pets and shit.  
  
Of course, that doesn’t mean she won’t take any opportunity to steal the center of attention; if the topic just so happens to be about bugs, so be it.  
  
“Of course, my great-uncle is one of the leading names in entomology,” she says, lifting a shoulder and smiling winningly. The girl who was just talking closes her mouth and blinks at her, her eyebrows furrowing together. “He told me all sorts of things! For example, did you know that some butterflies can live as long as a hundred years?” The girl squints and opens her mouth, but the other students’ exclamations cut her off before she can say anything. “He also told me that a rare species of african beetle can sing during mating season.”  
  
“But that’s not―” the girl tries, only to be drowned out by the other students’ excitement. A few kids are looking between her and Lila with skeptical expressions, though, so Lila decides to up the ante.  
  
“He won the Nobel Prize for his discovery of an entirely new species of arachnid, called Blue Thorn Rosehair Tarantula,” Lila continues. “Of course, he dedicated the discovery to me, his most beloved niece.”  
  
“But there’s no species of tarantula called that,” a boy next to the girl objects, finally bringing the attention of the room back to her. He gestures to her. “Besides, aren’t we here to talk about Noelle’s expertise in bugs? It’s great that your great-uncle’s famous and all, but he’s not really here right now, and it’s kind of rude to talk over Noelle anyway.” Noelle shifts the jar in her hands, mumbling something and looking down.  
  
The rest of the students make embarrassed noises, shuffling their feet and murmuring apologies to Noelle for ignoring her. Lila gasps, and brings tears to her eyes with the ease of long practice. Everyone turns back to her in alarm.  
  
“Are you ― are you calling me liar?” Lila asks, her hands clasped over her chest. “I didn’t mean to take away the attention from Noelle, but accusing me of dishonesty is just uncalled for!”  
  
The boy blinks, clearly taken aback. “A li ― what? All I said was that it’s rude to interrupt Noelle. I didn’t mention _anything_ about whether you were lying or not.”  
  
“But you _did,”_ Lila insists tearfully. “You said there was no such species as the Blue Thorn Rosehair tarantula! You called me a liar!”  
  
“I did not,” the boy repeats, starting to sound irritated, “mention anything about you lying. At best, I implied that you were misremembering. _Implied._ There was nothing I said that directly called you a liar.”  
  
“But you did kinda sound like it,” someone pipes up, sounding a little reluctant to bring it up. With one person speaking out against him, however hesitant about it they may be, everyone else is eager to call him out on the accusation. Lila hides a smile behind her hands.  
  
“I said nothing of the sort!” The boy snaps, glaring at everyone. “Sure, she’s bragging a whole lot, and I said that the blue whatever tarantula doesn’t exist, but that is _nowhere near_ the same thing as calling her a liar.” Noelle tugs at his sleeve, a worried look on her face.  
  
“Anthony,” she says, sounding distressed, “leave it, it’s fine. They don’t mean anything by it.”  
  
“But you might as well be calling Lila a liar by saying it doesn’t exist!” Someone argues, ignoring Noelle.  
  
Anthony throws his hands up. “Fine! Whatever. Clearly, specific words and actual meaning doesn’t matter to any of you, so _fine._ We’re gonna go and leave you to your darling celebrity.” He puts a hand on Noelle’s shoulder and glares at them as he steers her towards the door. “Maybe put some work towards critical thinking instead of immediately leaping to conclusions.” The door shuts behind him.  
  
Immediately, everyone rushes to Lila’s side. “I’m so sorry, Lila!” Someone says. “I don’t know what came over him, he’s usually so much nicer!”  
  
“I bet this’ll teach him not to make wild accusations in the future,” someone else comments. They roll their eyes. “‘Doesn’t exist,’ sure. Whatever. Is _his_ uncle a famous bug scientist?”  
  
Lila smiles, sniffling. Might as well milk this for all it’s worth, right? “Thank you everyone,” she says, wiping her eyes. “I just ― I don’t understand why he’d say that! It was so mean!” Everyone clamors to reassure her, and she revels in the feeling of worship.  
  
Outside of the classroom, a girl clutches a mason jar with five tiny black and white spiders inside it. Her brother has gone to get their lunches from his backpack, and so she’s alone in the hallway. A dark purple butterfly lands on the jar, its wings fluttering, and the girl looks down as the outline of a butterfly mask appears over her face.  
  
_“Hello, Truth Crawler. My name is Papillon. I have a deal for you.”_

* * *

  
_This is such a bad idea._ He shudders as he ducks around the corner, barely breathing, as if holding his breath will make him less noticeable. _Holy shit, this is_ such _a bad idea._ When he left the classroom, only one other person came with him. He doesn't know where they are now. Hopefully, they got away; he doesn't know how likely (or unlikely) that is. He’s been lucky so far; almost none of the insects he’s come across have seen him, and the ones that have weren’t fast enough to capture him. He knows that can change at the drop of a dime, though, so he keeps going.  
  
_Where_ exactly he’s going, he’s not sure; he just knows that he has to get away. Even if they were only turned into bugs, he doesn’t want to be one of the people who find out if Ladybug’s cure can turn them back to normal first hand.  
  
Speaking of Ladybug, it’s been hours and she still isn’t here. Maybe she can’t get to the school. Maybe she’s sick. Maybe she’s in a different city entirely. Whatever the reason, there’s been no Ladybug since this whole thing started, and he’s really really worried now. If Ladybug never comes, the Akuma will never be defeated. If the Akuma’s never defeated, the school will be overrun by insects forever, and―  
  
His train of thought is interrupted by something grabbing the back of his shirt and hauling him backwards.  
  
“No!” He shrieks, twisting and flailing, trying to get it to let go of him. It just makes a series of clicks at him and keeps going, ignoring his increasingly desperate attempts to escape. By the time it drops him in front of a girl sitting on a web, tears are streaming down his cheeks and there are scrapes on his hands. “Please,” he whimpers. “I don’t wanna die, I don’t―”  
  
The girl steps down and crouches in front of him. She has eight eyes, and they blink at him consideringly. Then she tilts her head. “Do you know a girl named Lila Rossi?”  
  
He’s too shaken to really register the question, or even that he’s been asked something at all. “W-What?”  
  
“Lila Rossi,” she repeats. Her voice is soft ― there are little sounds underlying it, hisses and clicks and cricket-like chirping. “Do you know her? She’s really who I’m after, you see. I made a promise to Papillon that I would bring him the Miraculous, but I get to talk to Lila first. Do you know her?”  
  
He shakes his head frantically. “I ― no, I’ve never met her, I’ve heard her name and seen her in the halls sometimes, but she’s in a different class from me, we’ve never talked, please don’t―”  
  
She brings up her hands; a finger against her lips, and a finger against his. “Shhh . . .”  
  
His shoulders sag. His breath evens out. His eyes widen, then droop closed. He barely notices when his shoulder is bitten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a reason they tell you to be wary of the quiet ones.


	4. Unexpected Day Three ― Loud Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter, tikki is a little shit :D
> 
> this is a really short one! mostly because i a) had school today and b) just . . . wasn't really interested in the prompts. so. short little thing.

It’s comfortably dark, and warm, and she can hear something murmuring her name in the back of her mind. She sighs, mumbles, and turns over. The voice pauses. It whispers her name again; it’s a really high, squeaky voice, actually, so it’s kind of impressive that whoever’s speaking can do it so softly. “Mm,” she says, voice slurred with sleep. She brings a hand up and waves it around halfheartedly. “F’ve mer mits. ‘M wake.”  
  
Whoever it is sighs. She doesn’t hear them for a bit. Then ―  
  
_“WHY DO YOU BUILD ME UP―”_  
  
“Tikki!” Marinette shrieks, bolting awake and flailing. “Wha ― I was ― _Tikki!”_  
  
“You weren’t getting up,” Tikki says innocently, Marinette’s phone in her paws. The mischievous glint in her eyes is at odds with her bright smile and open expression. “I thought this might be a good way to wake you. It’s worked for some of my Chosen in the past.”  
  
“What, deafening them?” Marinette mutters, blinking and rubbing at her eyes.  
  
Tikki laughs. “No, startling them with loud music. Come on, Marinette, you’re awake now! Get dressed, go eat breakfast, you have school today. Not to mention . . .”  
  
Marinette brightens. “Oh, yeah, that’s right! Thanks for reminding me, Tikki, I probably would have forgotten otherwise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for a while, my mom would wake me and my siblings up almost exactly like this; blast the album Wild Thing, the first song of which is a cover of Build Me Up Buttercup, and it worked pretty much every time.
> 
> and what exactly am i alluding to at the end?  
. . . . actually, i don't know either. i'm pretty sure that it involves marinette finally telling everyone off for taking her kindness and selflessness for granted, telling alya that she loves her but please, /please/ stop trying to set up opportunities for her to confess to adrien because all attempts so far have Not Worked, and generally asserting herself more. maybe i'll write this month, maybe later, who knows?


	5. Myths and Fairytales Day Five ― The Seven Swan Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so . . . yeah! this is late a day or so! whoops! '^^
> 
> not uploading on the fourth was intentional; i have a story for that day's prompt that i plan to make into a chaptered thing all its own, so i'm going to be making an entirely new work for it. yesterday (or the day before yesterday, really, it's right after midnight where i am at the time of posting this) was /not/ intentional; i just . . . started too late to finish, and then i really needed to go to sleep. so . . . tada?
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoy the longest one yet (and hopefully it makes up for no story for the sixth on the sixth; i plan to combine days six and seven, which i why i'm not worrying about any day six prompts right now)!

The Prince and the Seven Swans

  
It begins, as so many tales such as this one do, with _Once Upon a Time._  
  
Once upon a time, there were eight good friends that lived together and loved each other dearly. One of them was the town’s seamstress, and everyone loved her for her kindness and generosity (and baking, but mostly the other two things). Her name was Marinette. One of them was a messenger, though she often took it upon herself to relay the general news as well as more specific letters. Her name was Alya. One of them was the son of the mayor, as well as part of the guard of the town. His name was Adrien. One of them was a boy named Nino, and though he was apprenticed to the librarian, his true passion lay in playing music for other people. The last four, Luka, Ivan, Rose, and Juleka were musicians as well, though they played very different music from Nino’s area of expertise, and there were often many mock-fights over which was better. The eight of them were well beloved in the town, having grown up there and cared for everyone as well as they could. No one could say that they hadn’t been helped by at least one of them. Even if it was only a small conversation, meant to cheer them up after a hard day, or something as big as helping them rebuild their house after a storm, everyone knew the eight of them, and everyone loved them like family.  
  
But one day, a strange girl came to town. She wore an orange cloak that billowed about her, and her hair was braided in a crown atop her head, and she carried a hazel wood staff; all signs of a fledgeling witch. She introduced herself as Lila. Many welcomed her warmly; after all, she was a girl traveling by herself, and she seemed to have been on the road for a long while, and who would not be in want of a bed and a meal after such a tiring journey?  
  
So they welcomed her, and brought her to the inn, and fed and watered her, and gave her a room. She showed nothing but gratitude towards them; she was polite and eager and enthusiastic, and the townspeople were pleased to have met such a nice young girl. And when it turned out that she was quite the storyteller, they were pleased even more ― after all, their town was lovely, but none of them traveled much, and it had been so long since they had heard anything but vague rumors from other places. So she entertained them with tales of conquest, of bravery and daring, of romance and heartbreak and determination. She wove stories of grandeur, of magic, of great accomplishments; and now, some in the crowd were beginning to wonder. Could she have done all those things she claimed to do? True, none of them had left their little town in a generation or so, but they weren’t _that_ out of touch with the rest of the world. She couldn’t have defeated the vile Magician of the Murdoran Swamps, he had died years ago. Still, they dismissed it as a young girl’s fancy, and continued to enjoy her tales.  
  
Until, that is, she began taking credit for things they _knew_ she or her relatives couldn’t have done; they knew this because it was _their_ families who had achieved those accomplishments. The creation of the Glowing Rose, used in nearly every healing magic you could come across these days? That had been Anarka’s mother, who only meant to make her flowers grow faster and bigger. The discovery of an ancient underground ruin, filled with old texts and artifacts and magical treasures? That had been Alix’s father and grandparents, on an archeological trip when he was fifteen. The list could go on, but the straw that broke the camel’s back was when the girl claimed to be responsible for the wedding outfit for the kingdom’s crown prince and another kingdom’s princess. Marinette had been commissioned for the dress and the suit.  
  
They confronted her about this; first, the adults, who tried to reason with her and tell her that someday telling lies like that would get her hurt. She only blinked at them and asked, “What lies? All I have told has been as true as I know it.” The adults looked at each other, shook their heads, and sighed. Perhaps the older children would be able to reach her better.  
  
But it was not the older children who scolded her next; it was the town’s youngest who beat them to it, clamoring to be heard: “Lying is bad, Miss!” “My mama always puts me in a time out when I tell a lie!” “I heard that if you tell a lie, there will be monsters that come to your bed at night and eat your voice!”  
  
Lila only smiled at them, patted their heads, and repeated; “What lies? All I have told has been as true as I know it.”  
  
The town’s youngest all looked at each other uncertainly; if their earnest attempts had fallen on deaf ears, how else could they help their new friend? They truly did like her; after all, she had given them sweets and smiled at them as brightly as Adrien and made them all laugh and smile, and really that was all they needed in a friend. So, disappointed that they could not convince her to stop lying, they turned to the children closer to her age.  
  
The children had as much success as the adults and the town’s youngest; that is to say, none. Lila only giggled at them, a hand over her mouth, and said again: “What lies? All I have told has been as true as I know it.”  
  
“Truly?” Marinette interrupted. All present eyes turned to her. She was staring at Lila, the seven of her closest friends standing close to her. “Then why would you claim to have done all those things that _we_ have done?”  
  
It was Lila’s turn to level a haughty look in the other girl’s direction. “I have told only the truth,” she said, giving a little sniff. “If, perhaps, there have been similar feats made . . .”  
  
“Similar?” Alya demanded hotly, pushing forward. “There is no ‘similar’ about it ― you tried to convince us that you or someone you’re related to has done so many things that we know we have accomplished! You cannot expect us to believe you when the only things from your mouth these past hours have been falsities.”  
  
It was at this that Lila suddenly crumpled. “Are you―” she sniffed, wiping at her eyes. “You couldn’t ― a-are you calling me a _liar?”_  
  
“We are calling you untruthful,” Luka said firmly. “That is not quite the same thing. Perhaps you didn’t know; perhaps you only wanted our attention, and believed this was the best way to get it.”  
  
“But you must stop being untruthful now,” Nino added. “It will only lead to harm if you continue.”  
  
For all their efforts, they could not get the witch girl to let go of her stories. Eventually, she had become so convinced of their accusation and her innocence, that she let out a shriek and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. They all looked at each other, mourned the lost friend, and spent a moment cleaning up the dust her exit had left behind.  
  
Unbeknownst to all of them, someone had been listening in; someone malevolent. Someone cruel. Someone who was very interested in getting the more prominent magic users out of the town. And so, he sent a little messenger to Lila; a butterfly that whispered sweetly in her ear as she snarled and wept angrily.  
  
_“Oh, dear little witchling,”_ it crooned, its wings fluttering gently. _“You know you were wronged; here, we will help you make it right.”_  
  
She did not stop to think twice before straightening and hissing “I accept.”  
  
No one saw her when she returned in the night, smiling to herself and chanting a malicious spell softly. No one saw her leave, cursing the mayor’s son for his resistance to her magic. No one knew to help the eight children before it was too late.  
  
When the sun rose, and the town awoke, Adrien was found weeping at his friends’ bedsides as they hissed and rasped and trumpeted in confusion and fear. All they knew was that a curse had been laid on them as they slept, and they were no longer human, but seven swans; all else was lost to the night’s departure.  
  
No one knew what to do; the only magics they knew were small things, meant for daily tasks such as cooking and cleaning and gardening. How could they reverse a spell as large as this? The mayor was no help; he had never approved of the company Adrien kept, and even if he possessed any magical talent himself, the love he held for his son did not bring him to lift a hand. After three days of frantic discussion, they made a decision: the eight children would go east, and find Luck’s Lady, a powerful witch that helped any who needed it.  
  
They left with tears, many hugs and promises to return, and nearly ten years’ worth of supplies fit into a bag charmed to be endless. They met Luck’s Lady on the third day of the third month.  
  
“My dearest children,” she said to them once they had been ushered inside and were settled with good things to eat and drink. “I am so sorry that I could not help you sooner; if it had been even one day’s difference, I could have returned your true forms to each of you, and a blessing for no further harm to fall on you besides.” She dipped her head, and her familiar lashed his tail at her distress.  
  
“Isn’t there anything?” Adrien pleaded softly, his hands trembling around his tea cup. “Anything at all?”  
  
The Lady gave her familiar a considering, worried look. “Well . . .” The Lady began.  
  
“You won’t like it,” the black cat said bluntly, his ears flicking. “None of you. It will be long, and there will be many things to make it harder. But at the end of the ordeal, you will be human children and protected besides.” He gave them all a level look, his green eyes piercing them. “Will you hear my Lady out?”  
  
The children barely hesitated; “Yes,” Adrien said, his voice barely a whisper.  
  
And so these were the terms of the spell the Lady presented to them: for seven years and one day, Adrien would collect their fallen feathers and make a shirt for each of them, and himself besides. For seven years and one day, he would not sing, nor laugh, nor cry, nor speak, nor hum, nor moan nor mumble nor make any speech to another being. For seven years and one day, they would live alone, and tell none of their family where they had gone, nor write to tell them what had become of them. At the end of these seven years and one day, they would each don their shirts, and the curse would be undone.  
  
“It is cruel,” the Lady said gently, “to further separate you from family, I know. But it must be so; the deepest set magics are often the ones performed by few. Your village cannot help you anymore; you must persevere on your own. Can you do this?”  
  
Their conviction shone through even before they could nod in agreement; they could do this task. For seven years and one day ― and then return to their lives and loved ones.  
  
_(“Little child,”_ the cat had said to Adrien before they could all go. _“I have a piece of advice for you. If ever anyone should try to deter you from your task, or attempt to lead you astray, take the last and extra shirt; take it and throw it over their head. This will replace your family’s curse from them onto this new person, for the rest of their life, and double the misfortune bestowed. But,”_ he added before Adrien could say anything, _“this is only a last resort. In all else, you must believe you and yours will endure. Do you understand me, little child?”_ Adrien had hesitated for only a moment before nodding and telling the cat, _“I understand, Shadowed One.”)_  
  


* * *

  
And so the children set off to settle in an old abandoned house in the woods by a lake. Adrien knew how to sew from Marinette’s teachings, and the Lady had given him a magic sewing kit to better sew the feathers together. He tried to make them shirts that would best match them; while they were all simple, there was one thing amongst all of them that indicated the only person they could belong to. For Nino, a black neck and stripe around the shoulders, and five small feathers arranged in a little eye on the back. For Alya, a higher collar and longer sleeves, and a small, unused black feather quill on the back. For Luka, it was a shorter sleeved shirt with sharp corners in the hems, lined with black feathers, and a tiny harp embroidered in one corner. For Ivan, he laid black feathers over the backs of the arms, and embroidered a stone under the collar. For Juleka, he made the ends longer and more billowy, the black feathers dancing in a tune only she could hear. For Rose, he made it light and delicate looking, almost like a fairy’s. For Marinette, her shirt was made nearly entirely black, as she was the only black swan among them. For his own shirt, he did not try to make it very special; he knew it was his, and that was enough for him. Of course, he had to wait for their feathers to molt, and they were loathe to find out if feathers deliberately pulled would null the affect. So his progress was hampered by simple waiting ― but progress was still steadily made. Had they been the only people in those woods, the seven years and one day would have passed by without incident.  
  
But alas, they were not as alone in that forest as they had thought; in a village nearby, rumors began to circle about a strange, handsome young man living by himself with seven tamed swans. He would not speak to anyone who came across him, only smile faintly, nod at them in greeting, and continue on his way. The swans he lived with would not let anyone near him for longer than ten minutes, and many were convinced that he was the prince of some unknown fairy kingdom, with the swans as his loyal guardians. Others believed him to be a malignant sorcerer, aiming to steal away their crops and wares and children. Still others simply thought him to be a boy living by himself with seven swans who somehow considered him their own.  
  
One woman in particular believed this, and she came across as a very lonely woman. Perhaps being so lonely herself, she convinced herself that the boy was lonely as well, and took it upon herself to take him home with her.  
  
This woman was a witch, named Nathalie, known to the townspeople as Mayura. Not much was known about who she was or where she came from; the most people could tell you about her was that she was a very punctual woman, she greatly disliked uncleanliness, and had little to no patience with most everyone. She had only arrived in the village a month or so ago. She was clearly well off, but she chose none of the highly sought-after better buildings, only settled in a house big enough for her to sleep and eat in. So when she announced one day that she planned to house the boy in the woods with her, the general reaction was that of incredulous amusement. Her? Nathalie? The Mayura? Surely they had heard her wrong. But she glared at them all, set her shoulders square, and repeated herself:  
  
“I intend to provide a home for that boy.”  
  
And she certainly did her best to get him from his cottage to her little hut by the main street; for weeks, she cajoled and pestered and requested and tried to get Adrien to live with her, or even once say a word to her about anything. But he only ever blinked at her, nodded with a tiny, barely-there smile, and continued to sew. She tried to bribe him; “If you live with me,” she said once, “I shall fetch for you all the needles and thread you could ever be in want of.” He said nothing and continued to stitch.  
  
“Isn’t it cold out here by yourself?” She asked another time, as the winter cold began to set in. “Surely those birds of yours cannot bring all the warmth a growing young man needs.” At that, he raised an eyebrow, but kept his eyes on the feathers and thread in front of him.  
  
“Please,” she begged him finally, “won’t you come with me? Don’t you need someone to talk to? Don’t you need a mother to care for you?” He only frowned and worked out a rough patch of feathers.  
  
Eventually, she no longer asked. She was tired of the swans, and she was tired of what she believed to be delaying the inevitable; she cast a spell to subdue the birds, put sleep in Adrien’s eyes, and took him away to her true home.  
  
For you see, Mayura was the queen of an ailing kingdom; with no heir, there would be no one to continue the line, and with no one to continue the line, their kingdom would fall apart into ruin. So despite all signs pointing to the boy being perfectly happy where he was, despite all the warnings she had been given by the swans; she took him away.  
  
When the swans woke, found themselves outside of the house, and the inside of the house with no Adrien in it, they were furious. Then they were frightened. Then, when they discovered the hiding place Adrien had chosen for the shirts ― each barely completed, and one odd extra made of not just feathers, but of thorns and odds and ends as well ― determined to find him. They had made it through five years; they would not let the last two be their ruin.  
  
So they began their search for their Adrien. They were hindered by the fact that they could no longer speak to other people, ask them if anyone had seen their dear one; they had only their own eyes and ears and wings to look with. And look is exactly what they did ― first, they looked around the town they had settled near; there was no sign of him anywhere. Then, they widened their search, trying to find his scent if they could, however faint it may have been at that point. Farther and farther they searched, until their wings ached and their eyes could barely stay open, and they longed for their home and their families and their human forms.  
  
Then, one day when they had flown so far they couldn’t recognize any of the land beneath them ― at last, at last, they heard something; the queen was crowning her son of only a year, a son she had found from somewhere else. A son with hair gold like the sun, like wheat under a breeze, like sunflowers blooming in summer. This son would not speak; he only stayed in his room, making no sound at all, staring out the window.  
  
This son could be no other than their Adrien; the swan children set off at once, their shirts and the odd extra hanging from their beaks. At midnight, they found him hiding in a garden, pale and withdrawn and thin. When he saw them, he could not stop the gasp from coming out; he stilled instantly, fearing the sound he had made; but the swan children would have none of it. They hugged him as best they could with wings and no arms, but he cried silently and hugged them back. They presented him with the shirts; one by one, he slid them over each of their heads and watched as his friends returned one by one. It had been seven years and one day.  
  
“But Adrien,” Marinette wondered, still holding that last odd shirt, “what is this one for? Who else could need to wear it?”  
  
And Adrien only smiled as he took the shirt and left it on a bench with a note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this was really my first time attempting this sort of "fairy tale" style of storytelling. what'd y'all think? yay? nay?  
i . . . don't really know how i feel about it. there are some parts i'm really proud of, some i'm more "eh" about, and some i just don't really like. i shrug.
> 
> the lila poster is not welcome and all comments made under "lila" will be deleted.


	6. Digital Conversations day 17 ― "im hubgry"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> adrien is sick. nino is a bro. plagg is a little shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *eyes notes on chapter five*  
. . . . so that was a lie.
> 
> yeah, so! i'm here! days late! :|  
honestly though i'm doing way better than last year, where i finished exactly none of the prompts, so like *shrug* @ past self i'm doin' better than you
> 
> no but yeah, i am no longer making promises about when this will update. i definitely wanna have at least 31 chapters, for all the days in october, but if it happens to be finished in like . . . february of next year?  
. . . . yeah i'll be okay with that.

**GoldenKitty**  
**today, 11:13 AM**   
nniiiiiiiiino.  
  
**BeatMaster**  
**today, 11:15 AM**  
oh wow youre really sick huh  
  
**GoldenKitty**  
**today, 11:15 AM**  
no  
shut up  
maybe  
yes  
:D  
  
**BeatMaster**  
**today, 11:16 AM**  
please dont send me a smiley face after confirming that you are very sick.  
  
**GoldenKitty**  
**today, 11:16 AM**  
**:D**  
  
**BeatMaster**  
**today, 11:16 AM**  
oh boy it got worse  
anyway  
whats up dude  
you want me to come over?  
  
**GoldenKitty**  
**today, 11:17 AM**  
god i wish you could  
im. really hubgry  
  
**BeatMaster**  
**today, 11:17 AM**  
youve got a typo you must be sick  
so get up and get some food  
  
**GoldenKitty**  
**today, 11:17 AM**  
i don’t _wanna_ >:(  
that means i gotta get up  
fuck that noise  
  
**BeatMaster**  
**today, 11:18 AM**  
ah  
a valid reason to not feed yourself  
  
**GoldenKitty**  
**today, 11:18 AM**  
stop bulllying meeeee  
i alreayd have a live-in little shit i don’t need this from youuu  
  
**BeatMaster**  
**today, 11:19 AM**  
? who’s there aside from the gorilla and nathalie and your dad?  
adrien?  
hello??  
did you fall asleep or something??  
im going to take the far less paranoid road and assume you fell asleep  
  
**GoldenKitty**  
**today, 11:28 AM**  
yah hes asleep  
  
**BeatMaster**  
**today, 11:30 AM**  
whomst the fuck  
  
**GoldenKitty**  
**today, 11:30 AM**  
rude  
im the live in little shit  
and i TRIED giving him my cheese but he said it was “too stinky”  
ungrateful snob  
  
**BeatMaster**  
**today, 11:31 AM**  
ok but like . . .  
are you a relative? a friend?  
  
**GoldenKitty**  
**today, 11:31 AM**  
more like the only good thing in this house  
aside from the cheese, my one true love  
  
**BeatMaster**  
**today, 11:32 AM**  
right . . .  
k  
what’s your name anyway?  
  
**GoldenKitty**  
**today, 11:32 AM**  
plagg  
alrighty i have cheese to eat and a kid to tuck away, bye  
  
**BeatMaster**  
**today, 11:33 AM**  
wait your name is plagg? like the kwami plagg?  
ADRIEN IS CHAT NOIR??????  
  
**GoldenKitty**  
**today, 11:33 AM**  
goodBYE dj boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know if chat noir has ever mentioned his kwami's name to carapace in canon, but i'm pretending that he has in this universe thing. it's my city and i can make it so. also this snippet thing takes place on the weekend, so they don't have to worry about school.
> 
> when adrien wakes up and sees his text history he panics and yells at plagg about revealing his identity and plagg is like "listen i am TIRED of all these identity shenanigans and honestly you people should have seen it ages ago. i'm just jumpstarting the process" meanwhile nino is blowing up adrien's phone trying to get an answer
> 
> also this was not fun to edit please don't let me do this again


End file.
